


the living net (above which he performs)

by elanorofcastile



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Established Relationship, Kneeling, M/M, Oral Sex, Power Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-24
Updated: 2012-06-24
Packaged: 2017-11-08 11:20:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/442655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elanorofcastile/pseuds/elanorofcastile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil is there to catch Clint when he needs a firm hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the living net (above which he performs)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lanna Michaels (lannamichaels)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lannamichaels/gifts).



> Well, I started with the intentions of a completely different fic (that is still in the works, just a bigger monster than I was prepared to tackle just yet), but this bit of fun came out of the woodwork instead! I had a lot of fun writing this, and I hope you enjoy!
> 
> My never-ending thanks to xtiney who beta'd for me, braving the tense shifts and comma abuse to thwack me into shape!
> 
> Title from the poem 'Home' by Viggo Mortensen.

Clint slams into the room, tossing his quiver onto the bed and turning to punch the door as hard as he can. The plywood and veneer buckle under his fist; Phil makes a note to have the door replaced, possibly with a curtain, if Clint was going to be this punch-happy after missions

"Yes, you had the shot; no you didn't get to take it. This was recon, _Agent_ Barton, not the time for action." Phil carefully gathers the quiver and sets it beside the bed, pulling one arrow from it as he does so. It had no tip, just screw threads as it waited to be given a purpose, something dangerous and perfect for the moment. "You can file all the complaints you want, but that was the situation and that was the call."

Clint growls, turning to face Phil with his mouth open to retort. He's met with the blunt end of the arrow against his throat. Phil simply holds it, pressing just hard enough to make it feel strange to swallow. "No, see, I’m the one who makes the call, so you don't get to complain. Just follow orders, Agent." 

Clint brushes the arrow away with a swipe of his hand and steps into Phil's space, grabbing the front of Phil's shirt and tie in one fist. "The orders were bullshit _Agent_ Coulson. That was the perfect opportunity to--"

Clint doesn't get to finish his sentence. Phil twists Clint's wrist to break his hold on his shirt, and uses that leverage to twist and turn and push Clint face first into the wall, pinning him there with his own body weight.

"The perfect opportunity for all Hell to break loose. I'll just continue to give you bullshit orders to save myself the paperwork of an international incident, if that's all right with you." Phil keeps Clint pinned with his body, pressed against him from thigh to chest. "Remember who owns you, who shaped you, brought you in. Who kept you." Phil easily holds Clint's arm with one hand and slides the other around to press against Clint's chest, digging his fingers into where he knows there is the remnants of a bruise from another night not too long ago.

Clint grunts and pushes back against Phil, less to break free and more to increase the contact. Phil digs his fingers harder into the bruise, pressing his hips forward to keep Clint pressed hard against the wall. "No smartass remarks now, hmm? Finally decided that maybe I know best?"

Phil can feel the atmosphere between them change, shifting fully now from detached, work-related anger, into loaded, heated, heavy sensuality. Phil can feel Clint's fingers trapped between them curl against his chest, a silent request for direction and permission for what he did, who he let walk away, to let orders take over his will. Phil pulls Clint away from the wall briefly, just long enough to turn him around and push him back up against it. He keeps one of Clint's arms trapped behind him, now pressed against the wall, and presses his hips square against Clint's. He grinds against Clint, leaning in close to speak and steal the breath from his lips.

In a low voice Phil lets the list of things he would like to do to Clint fall from his lips. Promises are wrapped in harsh words, Phil’s body pressed close to Clint's all the while. He shifts so his hip puts pressure against Clint's groin, wanting to drive Clint to distraction, make him forget what he's blaming himself for. Phil tugs Clint's fly open and forces his hand down into his pants, hand cool against the hot skin he finds. He can feel that Clint is starting to get hard, but since the restriction of his (ridiculously tight, makes Phil suppress a double-take whenever he sees Clint in uniform) pants isn't helping, he tugs at the fabric until he finally has Clint's cock in his hand. He keeps the words going, hissing the ways he can make Clint forget his name, forget he has a body, render him nothing more than electricity and chemicals and sensation.

He roughly jerks Clint off enough to get him fully hard before pulling his hand from his pants. When Clint makes an unhappy sound, Phil shushes him. He steps back from Clint, one eyebrow raised in wordless expectation, leaving Clint leaning against the wall, cock still out. The room is tense, silent, finally broken by the sound of Clint sliding down the wall to kneel in front of Phil.

Phil waits for a moment, holding Clint’s gaze, until Clint gives the tiny nod Phil needs to know that this is all right; consent obtained, he reaches forward to slide his fingers into Clint's short hair. The communication is silent, command implicit as Clint finally moves his hands and brings them up to open Phil's pants, the clank of his belt buckle loud in the quiet of the room. He tugs Phil's pants and underwear down below his hips, letting his fingers tease and slide along the pale skin there, brushing against the base of his cock. 

Phil clears his throat and scrapes his nails meaningfully against Clint's scalp, wanting him to get on with it. Finally, _finally_ Clint wraps his fingers around Phil's cock, the leather of his shooting glove warm against Phil's skin, and Clint leans in to lick along the length of him. Phil is sure to keep his eyes on Clint, forcing himself to watch even as he wants to let his eyes fall shut and fuck forward into Clint's mouth. He can tell that Clint knows exactly what he's thinking, so Phil holds back a moment, wanting to see how long Clint will draw this out before forcing Phil to push him faster. 

As Clint slowly, methodically licks along his cock, Phil shifts his weight to slide his foot forward and press his shin to Clint's groin. He doesn't care what becomes of the trousers, appreciating the contrast of Clint's bare cock against the black of his suit. 

At the first brush of Phil's shin against Clint's erection, Clint finally parts his lips and sucks the head of Phil's cock. Phil hitches his hips forward, pushing more of himself into Clint's mouth, needing to take control. When Clint doesn't pull back, just takes more of Phil until his lips have met his fingers around the base of his erection, Phil takes over. He starts slow, but steady, using Clint's mouth, feeling his assent through the press and slide of tongue, the carefully covered teeth, and the low hum in the back of Clint's throat. Phil slides his foot forward, pressing even more firmly against Clint's groin, groaning when he feels Clint grind forward of his own accord.

It doesn't take much more of fucking Clint's mouth and Clint riding his leg to bring Phil off. He grunts, tugging at Clint's hair, forcing himself deeper as he comes in Clint's mouth. The orgasm leaves his knees weak, and he has to put one hand firmly on Clint's shoulder to keep himself upright. He swears as Clint turns his head and spits out his come on the floor. 

There's a slight wobble to Clint's legs as Phil urges him to stand, one that wouldn't be noticeable to anyone else. Phil pushes him backwards, once again bracing him against the wall as he licks the traces of his come from Clint's mouth, cleansing him and taking him. As they kiss, Phil brings Clint off with a few quick strokes, holding Clint up as he clings to him, holds on to Phil as his focal point, his whole world.

The power Phil holds at this moment is intoxicating, and he wishes he were strong enough to carry Clint to bed. He wishes he could tuck Clint in and blanket him with their kind of love, show him that he doesn't have to carry all that red alone. The next best thing he can do though is keep Clint braced against the wall with one hand briefly against his chest, and then kneel at Clint's feet. He gently unlaces one boot, then the other, lifts Clint’s feet to take the boots and socks off, and quickly wipes one sock over the mess on the floor. He continues, pulling Clint's pants and underwear down and off, kissing his knee briefly before he stands again. Phil brings up Clint's hands one by one, removing the arm guard and shooting glove and pressing kisses to each palm. Urging Clint's arms away from his sides a bit, Phil unbuckles, unzips, and slides his top off, pressing a quick kiss to his shoulder as he does. Finally, he steps back and looks at Clint, bare and breathing hard against the wall. 

Phil strips and then moves to tug the blankets back on the bed before he goes back to Clint. He wraps an arm around his waist and helps him over to the bed, laying him out carefully and crawling in beside him. He tugs the blankets up around them, over their heads as he pulls Clint close. Finally, he presses a kiss of benediction to Clint's forehead, whispering against his skin. "You don't have to carry the load alone." 

Clint curls his fingers against Phil's back, breathing hard as he nods. He tenses for a moment, then lets it all go, lets the exhaustion seep into his bones. 

Phil stays awake, keeping vigil over Clint in case he needs anything more. In the half-dark under the blankets, Clint looks younger, relaxed in sleep with just the smudges of shadows beneath his eyes. Phil traces his fingers over cheekbone and nose, taking stock in his own way: planning, making provisions for unexpected circumstances, going over every eventuality for anything that could go wrong in future missions. He wants to keep Clint safe and sane, keep him as himself, not lost to his ledger and memories. It's the best he can do; he's no alien-god or genius scientist, but this is the power he'll wield to protect the things that matter to him the most.


End file.
